


same short stick.

by cl3rks



Series: black and white, red all over. [1]
Category: Daredevil (Comics), Daredevil (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Bar, Beer, Birthday, F/M, Gen, I TRIED TO KEEP IT NONSPECIFIC, M/M, Reader-Insert, Soulmate-Color Blindness, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, The Punisher, penny and dime, yay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-14
Updated: 2016-04-14
Packaged: 2018-06-02 05:56:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,164
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6553669
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cl3rks/pseuds/cl3rks
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You're Frank Castle's soulmate. </p><p>Or, alternatively, you're bummed out and celebrating your twenty ninth birthday when you see some rugged guy white-knuckling his beer bottle. He looks like hell and you can't help yourself.</p>
            </blockquote>





	same short stick.

**Author's Note:**

> Part one of my Frank Castle soulmate series.

Color was nonexistent for you. Not even muted, dulled, or slight slivers of color – no, you saw everything in black and white. You were one of the few hundred thousand people born without the ability to see color. Once you found your soulmate, however, that would change. 

You wish you could've been one of the deaf ones or entirely blind, sometimes. Or even one of the people with a clock; perhaps one of the ones who only had a singular mark or a few in a specific pattern or even just a name, one singular name – unless you had multiple soulmates.

You only had one, to your knowledge.

You had a name written across your shoulders in some messily formed font, along with an enormous skull beneath it. You didn't know the name Frank and the skull left you clueless, the words didn't really mean anything – the ones littering your hip – not yet, anyway. You had three numbers behind your ear – one, and ten.

Your sister offered a date, maybe. Your father a time... your mother a dollar amount. When your mother saw the giant skull for the first time, however, she sighed softly and immediately began to worry. 

_“It's likely nothing, mom.”_ You told her when you were a teenager, getting your yearly physical. _“Probably just some dude with a thing for the human skull.”_

That made her worry more. Your father laughed and told you to take it in stride. Your sister got a girl's name down the street – married her soulmate the second they were both eighteen. 

Through your life, you hooked up with various people. Anyone struggling to find their soulmate naturally did, they needed to feel that they weren't alone. 

You saw a rugged looking man in a bar one day, you were celebrating your twenty ninth birthday, your shoulders hunched as you celebrated by nursing your second bottle of beer.

It was warm by now. Too warm to drink.

Your friends had left an hour ago. They already had their soulmates – they already had kids, they needed to be with them and you didn't force them to stay. You didn't force them to explain.

You got it. You knew. You were important to them, but they had family. Jenny's little girl had a fever and her husband was in bed sick himself, she left earlier than expected. Fran and her girlfriend tried to come out, but they had an adoption meeting. Oscar and Kyle couldn't make it but Gina, CJ and Liv had all made it – just as Jenny had.

You glanced over your shoulder, he was at the end of the bar. He had a cut along his cheek and his hand was white-knuckling the brown bottle in his grip. You saw the bruises littering his hand and, if you didn't know any better, he could've shattered that bottle if he squeezed any tighter. 

You looked around yourself before sliding off your stool, leaving your warm bottle where it was as you made your way to the rugged man's end of the bar. You almost turned around, too. You kept walking though – determined to see what his damage was. 

Your mother said you always had a problem with that sort of thing.

“You alright, buddy?” You questioned, leaning against the bar slightly. 

“Fine.” He said gruffly, his response almost sickeningly annoyed. “Beat it.”

“You're white-knuckling that bottle, dude. I don't think you are.”

He turned sharply on his stool, nearly knocking you over as you straightened out. “I'm fine, leave it alone.”

“I'd rather not.” You replied shortly, frowning. “And watch it, nearly knocked me the hell over.”

You saw the look in his eyes – hard and angry and not to be fucked with. “Hit the road, kid. You don't wanna get involved with a guy like me.”

The words on your hip felt like they were burning and the dim light in the room slowly leaked over your black and white eyesight. Your mouth felt slightly dry and you cleared your throat, licking your lips before placing a gentle hand on his arm. 

“I'm not goin' anywhere, neither you nor my consciousness can stop me.”

His eyes flicked over your face, his jaw clenching as hard as his fingers gripped the bottle. His shoulders tensed even more when you said that, if at all possible. You glanced to see his hand drop from his beer bottle. If only you knew that the words you had just said, the ones littering the left side of his chest just below his collarbones, were burning and itching on his skin.

“My mother said you'd be a difficult woman.” He said, almost hastily as if you'd slip away. “Didn't expect a kid to fit the bill, though.”

“I'll have you know, I'm twenty nine as of today.” You replied, watching a small smile twist at the corner of his lips. “I'm not a kid.”

“Mm.” He muttered, looking you over as he brought his beer bottle to his lips so he could take a quick swig. “You got color now, too?”

“Yeah.” You nodded slightly, watching him. “Mind tellin' me what's up with the giant skull on my back, Frank?” 

He was surprised to hear his name pass your lips. “Got my name on you?”

“Shoulders. Right above the skull. You have some rough handwriting.”

“Like yours is so neat.” Frank mumbled, turning back on his stool. “I've got chicken-scratch on my right bicep, got a small skull on the left one. I've got a lot of marks for one chick, honey.”

“You got that one and ten thing, too?”

He shifted slightly, pulling at the collar at his neck. “This, you mean?”

“Yeah, what's it mean?”

He looked down at his beer, releasing his collar. His voice was quiet. “Penny and dime.” 

“Oh.” You muttered. It clearly had some sort of significance to him, meaning it would be the same to you, too. Eventually, maybe – actually, not likely. “Does the skull have to do with your life interests as well?”

“You could say that.” 

You sighed and hopped onto the stool beside him, allowing your hand to slip from his arm. “Least your marks appear small – mine are very difficult to hide. Thanks for that.”

Frank spared a chuckle and shook his head, taking another swig from his beer. “Welcome, kid.”

“Shouldn't call your soulmate 'kid', Frankie.”

“Oh, so now I'm Frankie? That's rich, for a girl named (Y/N).” His eyes flicked to his right bicep where your name was written. 

“Listen, my name is more common than you think.” You shot back, getting his slight smile to grow even more. You saw him squint his eyes as he looked you over, probably adjusting to the color meeting his eyes. “Great to see, huh? Like... really, actually see.”

“You wouldn't believe -” He paused, meeting your eyes before chuckling and turning back to the bottle in his hands. “Well, maybe you would... considering you got the same short stick.”


End file.
